Finite
by KJDN
Summary: When Matt stumbles upon Mello's mafia contacts, things take a violent turn. Is this really the same Mello who once laughed so clearly? With threats upon his life, Matt must navigate a very thin line between trust and deceit in order to save them both. Warning: graphic violence.
1. Bite the Curb

**A/N** : Welcome to Chapter 1 of Finite. Finite: having limits or bounds; not infinitely small.

 **Warning** : Graphic violence, swearing, criminal activity. This is not a sweet hurt/comfort fic. If you are looking for something sweet, this is not the fic for you.

* * *

"Bite the fucking curb."

Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck. Jesus fuck.

"Don't fuck with me! Get your fucking head down!"

Matt felt himself shoved roughly forward, his knees scraping the concrete and gravel of the road. The lamplight buzzed and flickered. His knees felt wet; he couldn't decide if it was blood or drainage from the street. He didn't care. The scent of asphalt and earth filled his nose.

"Open your fucking mouth, you stupid little bitch."

Matt couldn't even pretend to be brave. His heart felt like it would explode. He stared at the curbside, the concrete and graffiti blurring with unshed tears.

"Bite. The. Fucking. Curb."

He felt a hand in his hair, shoving his face down. A calloused thumb dug itself into his jaw, forcing his mouth open. He quickly found himself sucking concrete, breathing frantically through his open mouth. Gravel dug into his knees, and dirt filled his mouth.

Fuck, this was going to hurt.

Not just hurt - it would be agony. It would be worse than the time he was shot in the shoulder. Worse than the busted knee from his motorbike. This would kill him, if he was lucky, and it would hurt every single moment until his body finally gave out.

Oh fuck. Oh god, oh fuck, oh shit.

"Better say your prayers," a voice spat. Matt cringed when he felt a thick string of slobber running down the side of his face. "Go ahead and cry, little bitch."

Matt did. He felt tears pouring down his face. His jaw ached from the awkward position, and his mouth felt dry as stone. His mind replayed over and over all the horrible scenarios that could play out; his jaw shattering, his skin ripping, his tongue falling down his own throat. He imagined in agonizing detail how horrible the next few minutes would be.

This was not how he imagined his death. Not even close. He had hoped to die doing something cool; maybe a flaming bike wreck, or a massive shootout, or doing something heroic. He never once guessed that his death would occur while kneeling in the street, sobbing like a child, with his head kicked in by a pair of Doc Martins.

"This will teach you to spy on people who are stronger than you!"

"Hold the fuck up," a voice called. "Sit down before you hurt yourself, Santiago. For fuck's sake."

Matt felt himself blacking out; he clung to consciousness by a thread. He felt rough hands in his hair, jerking him up to his knees. A light shone in his face. He squinted, slowly feeling the blood rush back into his head.

"Did any of you brain-dead fuckwads think for a moment that we could possibly use this guy?"

A chorus of murmurs signaled the negative.

"Didn't think so. Listen, if he's good enough to get intel on our affairs, what the fuck do you think he could do to the 14th Street? Or Las Llaves? Fuck, we could spy on the whole god-damned coast if we use him. And you were about to send him packing to the Pearly Gates? Fucking idiots."

Matt felt cold leather wrapping itself beneath his chin. He squinted hard against the light, looking up into the face of someone oddly familiar. The voice wasn't right, but the face…

It was as if he were dreaming. There's no way…

 ** _WHAM!_**

Matt felt his face explode with pain. Fuck, this guy could throw a mean punch. Matt opened his mouth to try and defend himself, only to be greeted with another heavy punch to the face. That cool leather glove tangled itself deep into his hair and held his face still while the man's other hand cracked against his face over and over. Matt felt his cheeks swell; his lip split, his eyes both blackened, and his nose was almost certainly broken.

There's no way. No way. He wouldn't ever-

"Mel-?" Matt tried to gasp, but before he could finish his question, the blonde cracked his head against the street light. Matt felt himself float off into darkness.

* * *

"You're awake. Good."

Matt groaned, trying to open his eyes. It was that voice again - the one that sounded so wrong, yet so familiar.

"I wouldn't bother, if I were you. You've been out for two days, but the swelling still hasn't gone down. I didn't detach your retina, though, so that's a plus!"

How could this guy be so fucking cheerful over something like that?

Matt heard the sound of swishing leather, then felt a weight on the end of his bed. Bed? Yes, he was definitely lying on something softer than concrete… but perhaps "bed" was not the right word. A thin mattress on a slab; that's the only comfort Matt had. From the sound of their voices, he determined that the room was padded with some sort of sound-proofing. Every echo was immediately absorbed; Matt couldn't tell how big the room was, nor what was in it.

"We're fine to talk while we're in here," the other man said. "Nobody else can hear us. I wouldn't do that to you."

Matt made a grunting noise; his tongue felt too swollen to form proper words.

"I don't apologize for anything," the man continued, "but it's unfortunate that you recognized me. I really didn't want to have to do that much to you. But if they knew that we're familiar, it would not end well."

Familiar? No way. It wasn't a dream or a hopeless hallucination…

"Mello?" Matt choked out, tasting blood in the back of his mouth.

"Shut up before you hurt yourself. Yeah, Matt. Who the fuck else would it be?"

"You're alive," Matt coughed. Everything hurt. His face, his ribs, his head… Every ounce of him throbbed with pain. But Mello was alive. He had developed an American accent, and his pitch was much lower, but the underlying notes and rhythms in his voice were most certainly Mello's.

"God, don't you listen? Quit talking. Let me do the talking." The surly blonde swatted Matt on the arm, making the redhead cringe in pain. "Look. You're up shit creek, my friend. I don't know exactly how you did it, but you somehow found out way more about us than you should have."

Matt tried to shrug, but his shoulder refused to cooperate.

"You were ten seconds from St. Peter, mate," Mello continued. "You're fucking lucky that I happened to be there. And that I recognized you. Right now, I've got them convinced that I want you for your skills. You'd better be fucking willing and able to deliver, Matt. If you don't, you're a dead man. Period. I can't compromise my position, and we can't keep dead weight. Do you understand?"

Matt tried to nod, but the room was spinning. He was still stuck on the fact that Mello was alive.

"It's stupid to talk when you're in this state…" Mello grumbled. "Rest up. I'll have someone bring in food and water later. Technically, you're a prisoner for now. The door is bolted, and the room is soundproof. We typically use this room for recovery after an interrogation, but you're one of the lucky few who gets to stay here with all your fingers and toes still attached. Consider it a blessing."

Mello stood and paced the room for a moment, the distinct sound of a chocolate bar wrapper rustling between his fingers.

"Listen, man. I don't know how the next few weeks will play out. This is a dangerous fucking game that you roped us both into. Frankly, it might have been kinder to you if I had just let you die on the street…" Mello trailed off, snapping into the chocolate bar. "But for whatever reason, I didn't. So now you're playing to keep us both alive, you got it? You don't know me. You call me 'Sir' or 'Boss.' You keep your head down, your mouth shut, and you do what you're told. And you'd better do it damn well, or I can't guarantee your safety."

Matt could sense Mello hesitating. Years of watching the blonde pace around their bedroom at the orphanage caused Matt to be very attuned to Mello's habits.

"...Don't hold it against me if I have to beat you, Matt." Mello said quietly. "It's nothing personal. It's just how things work around here."

Matt swallowed the lump in his throat. Judging by the pain and swelling in his face, he knew Mello could deliver one hell of a punch. He prayed it wouldn't come to that again.

"'Kay," Matt mumbled.

"I should go. I have a lot to coordinate. There's this raid… You'll hear about it when you've recovered. Get some rest, and remember what we discussed. I'm counting on you, Matt."

Without another word, Mello left the room. The sound of the heavy steel door locking felt deafening to Matt. The silence in the room was amplified; the soundproofing prevented any noises from the outside world from reaching Matt's ears. He could imagine men going crazy on this mattress.

Despite the throbbing in his lips and cheeks, Matt forced himself to hum a tune - the repetitive, melodic music from Tetris - as he played imaginary games of Tetris in his mind's eye. Meanwhile, in the back of his mind, he began to plan ahead for the next few weeks. He imagined scenario after scenario, carefully crafting what to say and how to say everything for any situation he might come across. More than anything, he practiced over and over to never call Mello by name.


	2. Interrogation

**A/N** : Welcome to Chapter 2 of Finite!

 **Warning** : Graphic violence

* * *

"Do you know why you're here?"

The overhead light was blinding. Matt felt naked without goggles covering his eyes, and the brightness shining into his face did nothing to help his discomfort. He couldn't see how many men were in the room. He knew Mello was back there, in the corner. He could hear the rustle of the candy bar wrapper. If he had to guess, Matt estimated between six and ten men were in the interrogation room with him.

He nodded curtly, focusing his eyes on the concrete floor below. The dark blotches and red-rimmed rusty drain did nothing to ease his tension.

"You fucked up pretty bad, didn't you? Messing around in our business. We don't like guys who fuck around in our business."

Matt shrugged, and was rewarded with a slap to the face. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. He had to stay calm, or this could turn violent quickly. Mello wasn't kidding when he said that people lost fingers and toes in this room. The small metal desk held a plethora of instruments, and Matt could imagine the various ways each could harm or maim.

"I can help you," Matt said carefully.

"How?" The burly man snapped.

"I can get into any security system on the planet. I'm good."

"And just how the fuck do we know that you're so good?"

"I got past your system, didn't I?" Matt said, regretting it a millisecond later as the man grabbed his bound wrists and slammed them onto the desk. "Wait. Wait a minute."

Matt watched in horror as the man picked up a sharp pair of pliers, lightly pinning Matt's smallest finger between the jaws.

"What I meant was, if I can get past your incredibly well-designed system, don't you think I can get past your enemies' systems? The government's systems? I can design our security to be stronger, and I can look for weaknesses in others. Trust me. I say that I'm good because I am good. Just give me a chance."

"How did you find us?!" The man yelled, increasing the pressure on Matt's finger. The hacker bit his lip, trying to keep his breath steady despite the increasing pain.

"I was following a personal lead. I only work for myself. I thought your organization might have something to do with a person I was trying to find." Matt caught himself, remembering how he practiced this very scenario - though, in his mind, his fingers weren't in jeopardy. "I was wrong. The person I was trying to find is not involved. It was a false lead."

"So, you're too stupid for missing persons… and yet, you think you can help us?" The man cracked the pliers, splitting Matt's fingernail to the quick, but not shattering the bone. Matt yelped, writhing in his chair. No matter how hard he had worked to prepare himself, actually sitting through this was horrible.

"Heh… if you think I'm good, you should see the guy I'm after…" Matt forced out, trying not to tear up as the pliers moved to his ring finger. "I'm good. He's better. That part's irrelevant. What matters now is the fact that I'm skilled in computer systems and cybersecurity, and that's what you need right now. Give me a chance."

"Demanding little shit, aren't you?" The man grunted, quickly splitting Matt's fingernail down the middle. Matt let out a strangled cry, gritting his teeth.

Keep your head down. That's the one instruction he was given, and he couldn't seem to manage it without an attitude. He shot a glance towards the darkened corner where Mello was most likely watching. He knew the blonde couldn't intercede without a reason, but some part of him couldn't believe that Mello would sit by and watch this. Would Mello stand back until they started pulling flesh from bone?

"Please," Matt choked out. "Give me a chance. I'll show you what I can do."

"How did you find us?" The man barked again. He put down the pliers, much to Matt's relief. Matt felt his blood freeze when the man picked up a scalpel. "In detail."

"Fuck," Matt hissed, tensing up. "Security feed in traffic cameras. I created a backdoor in the traffic grid. I could access any traffic camera in the city. I used facial recognition software to track somebody as far as it could go."

"Talk faster," the man said, drawing the blade lightly across Matt's cheek, "or you might end up with a few extra stripes, zebra boy."

Matt gulped as a bead of blood fell from his chin onto his black-and-white striped shirt. The scalpel touched his throat, just below his jaw.

"Okay!" Matt sputtered, closing his eyes. "Once I tracked the person, I isolated the zone where he disappeared and broke into all the security cameras. Banks, convenience stores, street corners… I used the feed from those cameras to determine his projected course. That got me to the docks, which is where I broke into your system using an algorithm that modified one of my template programs. I didn't have any help, if that's what you're getting at."

The scalpel sank into Matt's jaw, making him scream. His eyes watered, his face contorted in pain. After a moment, the scalpel withdrew - leaving Matt with a gush of blood racing down his throat.

"The fuck are you doing?" He heard dimly through the haze that quickly descended over him. It might have been Mello's voice, but his ears were ringing too much to tell.

"What? He worked alone. We can dispose of him without worrying." The bulky man slung the scalpel to the table, turning to face the source of the voice. Matt felt himself gasping, gravity quickly distorting around him.

"We fucking want him!" the voice shouted, the distinct sound of a punch quickly following. The bulky man fell into the corner of the table, howling in distress. "Get a fucking medic in here, now!"

Matt felt something being pressed against his neck. Cold leather-clad fingers tilted his head back. Mello's face swam in his vision; he wanted to reach out to touch him and make sure he was real, but his bound and bloody hands were useless.

"You'd better be worth all this trouble," Mello shouted at him, but Matt had a feeling it was just for show. He didn't have time to contemplate it, however, as the world tilted sharply and fell into darkness.

* * *

"You've got to quit passing out like that," Mello said, chucking a granola bar at Matt's semi-conscious form. "I'm tired of waiting for you to wake up."

"Yeah, well…" Matt started, but he couldn't think of any way to finish his sentence. He caught the granola bar in his unbandaged hand, wincing as he moved his jaw. "Fuck, this sucks."

"You're lucky, Matty," Mello sighed. "If he wasn't such a fucking moron, you'd be a dead man. Fuckass didn't know where the artery was. He nearly nicked your carotid artery, but it wasn't close enough to kill you. Bet you felt like shit though, didn't you?"

"You could say that," Matt griped, clearing his throat. He scratched at the thick gauze pad taped to his throat. "Did I get stitches?"

"Six. I held you down while the medic worked on you. For an unconscious motherfucker, you sure didn't want stitches." Mello paused, casting a glance towards the familiar steel door. He strode across the room to sit at the foot of Matt's bed. "Are you okay?"

"Depends," Matt said. "Am I a dead man?"

"Not yet," Mello cracked a grin. "That depends on you. I know you used to be brilliant with computers, but I hope your skills have improved throughout the years. We're giving you a trial run."

"Brilliant," Matt said plainly. "It would be even better if I had both my hands to work with."

"Quit whining," Mello rolled his eyes. "Your fingers work. You're just missing a couple of fingernails. They'll grow back. Hurts like a son-of-a-bitch, but you can use them. Trust me. Been there, done that."

"Really?" Matt asked. He suddenly looked at Mello differently, noticing for the first time how worn the edges of Mello's face appeared. How deep the circles beneath his eyes were, and how his cocky smile masked something undeterminable.

"Yeah," Mello said, shifting uncomfortably. "I was fifteen when I got here, so… yeah. When you're a nobody, you take your licks and suck it up. You ask them politely if they'll rip the nails off the hand you don't shoot with. You hope they don't blacken both eyes at once. You hope they let you tape your nose back in place after they break it. Matt, I won't let them do anything to you that I haven't already gone through. Got it? But up to that point, I can't intervene. You need to understand that."

"I understand," Matt said quietly. "I can take it."

"You don't really have a choice, Matt. Either you take it, or you die." Mello clicked his tongue, bouncing his leg nervously - a habit Matt remembered from their days together at Wammy's House. "I'll do what I can for you. But I can't show favoritism. Not yet, at least. Once you prove yourself useful… Maybe. We need to ensure your survival first and foremost."

"Yeah, that would be helpful," Matt said, earning him a swat on the arm.

"Shut the fuck up for a minute, would you?" Mello snapped. "Once we know they aren't planning to kill you yet, we can work on getting you out of here. I would offer to pretend to drive you out to the bay and shoot you, but we typically bring back a hand as a trophy and… well, I assume you need both of yours."

Matt swallowed a lump in his throat. Despite the interrogations and the pain, the past few weeks felt like a floating dream. Somehow, hearing his childhood best friend discuss trophies and body parts brought Matt crashing into reality.

"You… You cut off their hands?" He asked, trying to keep the waver out of his voice.

"Well, yeah," Mello said with just a tinge of embarrassment. "It's just how things work. But if it's a boss or a don, you bring back the head. Matt, don't give me that look."

"What look?" Matt said.

"You're judging me," Mello snarled.

"You literally just said you cut off people's heads," Matt retorted.

"Look, I never asked you to come here. Why the fuck are you here in the first place?" Mello shouted, and for once, Matt was glad for the soundproof walls.

"I was looking for you, asshole!" Matt shouted back.

The look on Mello's face was pure shock. It took a full minute before the blonde recovered enough to clear his throat.

"You should have kept me as a memory and nothing more," Mello said coldly. "Everything that happens to you here - it's your fault. I told you not to follow me."

"Do you know how many years it took to track you down, Mel?" Matt said. "How many failed attempts? I've spent so much of my life looking for you, and-"

"And you shouldn't have! I was very clear, Matt. The day I left, I told you to forget me. I told you not to follow me. Forget I existed. Why couldn't you just fucking listen?" Mello cracked his hand across Matt's cheek, splitting the hacker's lip. Matt reeled, his face and neck throbbing as an angry red handprint bloomed upon his skin.

"I'm not sorry, Mello," Matt said quietly. "I made my choices."

"And I made mine," Mello huffed. "Fucking idiot. Now if you die, it will be my fault."

"I never said that," Matt argued. "I made my own choices. I got myself into this situation."

"On my behalf, apparently," Mello said. "Damn it, Matt. You fucking idiot. I'll never forgive myself if you die here."

"Well, we'll just have to work hard to keep me alive, won't we?" Matt said, weariness edging into his voice. "What's the plan?"

"I don't fucking know," Mello snapped. After a moment, he sighed, relenting. "Okay. Here's what we need to do. We're going to put your skills to the test. There's this group, Las Llaves, who have been giving us shit for the last three years. We used to partner with them to smuggle drugs across the Mexican border, but a few deals went south. A lot of our guys got killed, and a lot of their guys were incarcerated. We need their guys just as dead as ours."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, we're going to need you to sneak a few of our men into the correctional facility. Disarm the security precautions. Disable the cameras. Get our guys in and out unscathed."

"What for?"

"You ask too many fucking questions," Mello glared. "It's an assassination. We need to even the playing field. Otherwise, six of them make parole in a few weeks. If they get out of prison, they're coming for us. And we don't have the firepower to take on an army right now."

"When do we do this?"

"Two weeks."

Matt's jaw would have hit the floor if it hadn't been wrapped in layers of gauze.

"That's not enough time," Matt argued.

"Too fucking bad, Matty," Mello said. "That's all we have. You'll be briefed on the details tomorrow morning. You'll have a cell with whatever equipment you need. If you try to contact anybody outside, or if you give away anything about our location, they will not hesitate to kill you. And I will let them. Do you understand?"

"Fuck, Mello," Matt said, closing his eyes. "Fuck."

"You don't have any other options right now, Matt. I can put a bullet between your eyes right now to spare you if you want. That's the only kindness I can give you right now."

"You're not the Mello I remember," Matt said.

"You're right," said Mello. "I'm not."


End file.
